


Sitting Pretty

by Cowboy_Sneep_Dip



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Panne is still a Taguel because I like to have fun, Shyness, Trans Female Character, trans!Panne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 10:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19293880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cowboy_Sneep_Dip/pseuds/Cowboy_Sneep_Dip
Summary: Panne is in love, every time. She watches the way her muscles tense, her toned thighs and muscular back twisting and contorting, her pointe shoes dancing across the stage with all the grace and elegance of the part she plays. A princess, no, a queen - Olivia Tanzen, queen of the stage.Now if only Panne could get over her little hangup.





	Sitting Pretty

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to xhanamarux for commissioning me! This piece was a lot of fun to work on, so I hope you enjoy!

The lights dim, bathing the theater in shadow. The pillars lit with wrought gold dim to a desaturated yellow in the shadow, the rich dark velvets turned from blood-red to a hazy maroon. Whispers shrink and die, and silence coalesces around them like every breath is held and every eye is fixed on the curtain dropped before them.

Panne watches in the shadows, turning her pamphlet over in her hands. She’s high in the stadium seating, tucked almost behind a pillar supporting the next level up. She prefers it here, in the dark. Olivia reserves a seat in the press section for her every show, but she has yet to take it. It’s easier being a taguel in the back - she’s tall, lanky, and absolutely stands out in a crowd of older men and women dressed in pressed suits and frilly dresses, intermingled with art students and theater fans of a less seasoned nature. Panne flips the pamphlet open. It’s strange to see her name there, so prominent. Top billing is nothing to sneeze at.

There’s a shuffle of machinery and the hush of voices as a spotlight switches on, pointing a beam of yellow at the still-drawn curtain. And then, to the swell of orchestral music, the curtains rise.

She’s breathtaking, even after all this time.

Olivia Tanzen, world-class dancer, pride of the Feroxi entertainment biz; front and center. She bows, slightly, a half-bow, and then to the crescendo of building strings, she spins.

Like a top, like a painting in motion. Panne leans forward, watching with rapt attention, her eyes fixed on that spotlight’s focus. There are other dancers, too, but they don’t matter. They fold into the background, disappear into the shadows of painted backdrop and set pieces. The background calls forth images of castles and knights, rolling hills dotted with autumnal trees, and a princess in elegant lace in a tower, her pink hair billowing like clouds lit by the sunset.

Panne is in love, every time. She watches the way her muscles tense, her toned thighs and muscular back twisting and contorting, her pointe shoes dancing across the stage with all the grace and elegance of the part she plays. A princess, no, a queen - Olivia Tanzen, queen of the stage.

She is a queen, in all senses of the word - accolades, praise, photoshoots, modeling gigs, first-class flights to Valm, the works. She’s been working for it her whole life, since she was dancing in the old ballet studio off main street, just down from the deli where Panne would pick up her lunches.

She had found her in the parking lot behind the studio, still dancing after classes had let out. Panne had watched her from the bushes until Olivia squealed in embarrassment, covering her blushing face and stumbling backwards over the curb. Panne’s lightning-fast reflexes had saved the day, back then. It wasn’t love at first sight, maybe, but it was something.

They had been together after that, through high school, late night college coffee runs, small apartments in midtown, auditions, auditions, crying into ice cream, debuts, shows, and now this - Panne, in a suit and tie, watching Olivia achieve her dreams in the dazzling spotlight of center stage.

She could almost cry every time, if she thought about it too hard. But she didn’t, because she doesn’t. Panne leans forward on her knees and watches with rapt attention.

Olivia dances opposite the other lead, the deuteragonist - a man dressed in the elegant garb of a princely knight, his sleeves carefully removed to show off muscles that flex as he twirls and lifts around his opposite. It doesn’t bother Panne - it’s a show, an act - besides, her attention is fixed.

She applauds quietly, politely at the end of the first act, even though her heart soars.

 

-

 

She stands outside the dressing room, a bouquet of flowers in her hands. She sniffs one.

It’s not really necessary - it’s not a show opening or anything, just the last in a routine performance of a show that’s been on all summer, through the hot sticky months when the city smells like concrete and rain.

Olivia opens the door in a state of half-dress, her leotard strap falling off one shoulder and her skirt askew. She holds both hands up, one trying and failing to wrangle her hair back into a ponytail to keep her meticulously styled hair out of her face. Up close, she smells like sweat and hairspray.

“Ah!” she cries happily. “Hey!” She finishes snapping her hairtie around her newly-styled ponytail and leaps forward into Panne’s arms, almost crushing a few carnations as she does.

“A lovely show, as always,” Panne murmurs, pressing her lips to Olivia’s hair.

“Oh, gosh, thank you so much!” Olivia pulls back. “Are these for me?”

Panne cracks a half-smile and presents them. “Of course. Though they are a far cry from your beauty.”

Olivia blushes, and bows her head, accepting the gift graciously. “Oh, you,” she laughs nervously. “Sorry about the mess,” she says, opening the door wider with her free hand and inviting Panne inside.

“No problem,” Panne says, straightening up a folder of paperwork on Olivia’s desk instinctively.

“I just need to get changed and then we can be on our way!” Olivia smiles, slipping her skirt from her waist. She bends over to fish it from around her ankles and Panne blushes, looking away.

Olivia peeks backwards from between her legs. “Like what you see?”

Panne blushes and averts her gaze, unfortunately into the mirror. It doesn’t help.

Olivia smirks and slinks towards her, draping her fingers on the breast of Panne’s jacket. “Did you have fun watching the show?”

“Er, of course,” Panne says curtly. “It’s always a pleasure to see you work.”

“Mm,” Olivia cups Panne’s cheek in her hands and tucks herself against the side of her face. “Is it, now?”

She kisses Panne’s cheek lightly, trailing delicate kisses down her angular jaw until she hits her chin, and then tilts herself upwards to catch Panne’s lips.

Panne’s hands brace herself back against the vanity’s tabletop, sturdy as Olivia drapes herself over her body. Olivia catches Panne’s back, delicate fingers drawing down the back of her suit jacket, tracing the contours of her body, her arm, snaking her fingers around her hand. And Olivia kisses her, deeper, and lifts Panne’s hand from the table, sliding it around and setting in to rest on her hip. She nudges Panne’s hand backwards, across the soft silk of her leotard, until Panne’s fingertips brush flesh.

Panne tenses up.

Olivia laughs softly, not teasing but playful, and brushes her lips along Panne’s neck. “Something the matter?”

“H-here?” Panne stammers, lifting her hand from the rise of Olivia’s backside.

“It’s not like anyone will bother us,” Olivia teases, reaching a hand up to tug Panne’s tie loose from around her neck.

“Olivia…”

Olivia pulls back, dangling herself from Panne’s tie. She furrows her brow. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s just…” Panne narrows her eyes. She glances down at Olivia’s body, the way her clothes hug her skin and trace all of her curves - the delicate swell of her chest, her taut muscles, her muscular thighs. Panne wipes her brow.

Olivia leans over her, spreading her legs and practically wrapping herself around her over the tabletop. She kisses her lips, softly, and then kisses her cheek. She brushes her braided hair back and kisses the base of her ear. “How about we go home, then?”

Panne nods, secretly relieved.

 

-

 

Panne tugs off her jacket as she walks through the front door to their apartment, following close behind Olivia, whose heels click on the hardwood floor. Their apartment is a slick, modern studio affair, a high-rise apartment downtown that overlooks the park with a wall of windows. It’s a far cry from their time in the dorms of living in the arts district, which is maybe just a fancier name for the place all the poor college students move to once they graduate.

Panne folds her jacket over her arm and walks past the kitchen island towards the bedroom area.

Before she reaches the bedroom, Olivia snares her by the belt loops and tugs her into a kiss, tender and deep. It’s funny to see, the usually bashful Olivia being for forthcoming, but Panne is used to it - something about the excitement of shows, the lights and the energy and the sweat and the stage. Sometimes it’s best to have a private show.

Olivia jumps up on the island and spreads her legs, snatching Panne’s tie and tugging her closer. She wraps her legs around Panne and kisses her again. Panne nuzzles, her back, pressing her nose into the crook of Olivia’s neck and brushing her lips over her collarbone.

Olivia reaches her hands down and fumbles with Panne’s belt.

“Here,” Panne says in a hushed, breathy voice. She gently pushes Olivia’s hands away and unclasps her belt to unthread it through the belt loops. She works with calm, slow deliberation.

“Is everything okay?” Olivia leans back on her hands. Panne tries very hard not to stare up her skirt.

“Yes, just…” Panne purses her lips.

Olivia sighs and reaches out to stroke Panne’s hair, her fingers dancing between her braid and her ear. Panne’s blush, her bashful gaze and obstinate refusal to look Olivia in the eyes…

Teasing her about her shyness would just make it worse, Olivia decides. She knows firsthand. She hops off the table.

“Okay,” Olivia says, pulling her heels off. “I’m going to go shower. You wait right there,” she says, pointing towards the bed as she unclasps her necklace from around her neck.

“Should I...change?” Panne sits at the edge of the bed.

“Stay just like that,” Olivia smiles, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She spends a minute rummaging around in the dresser before carrying a bundleful of clothing towards the bathroom.

She has a plan.

She showers off quickly, rinsing off the sweat and replacing it with scented soap, lathering up and rinsing off. She steps out of the shower stall into the steaming bathroom, her hair draping down her bare back in wet curls. She stands over the sink, picking through her pile of clothes.

She had bought it for special occasions, but Panne hadn’t noticed or hadn’t brought up seeing them tucked away in the corner of her underwear drawer. Olivia knees and tugs a pair of lacy panties up over her legs before pulling on a garter belt. It’s like suiting up for a dance - frilly lace and tight silks and all sorts of hooks and snaps, and she tosses her hair over her shoulder and wipes the fog from the mirror to check her appearance.

Oh, drat. She had left her heels in the bedroom.

This would have to do.

 

-

 

Panne leans back on the bed against her hands, watching steam curl from the gap between the floor and the bathroom door. She loosens her tie and unbuttons the top of her shirt, letting the cool evening air against her skin. She fusses with her bra strap. Time passes slowly.

She can hear Olivia humming in the shower, some melody from the show, accompanied by the slosh of water down the drain. Panne gets up from the bed and crosses to crack the window and let a breeze in. She sits back down. It’s not that she wasn’t...excited to see Olivia, to touch her. They share a bed, after all, and it’s not like her fingers haven’t graced her curves in the middle of the night, not like she hasn’t already felt her skin through her sheer nightshirt.

Formalizing it made her nervous, maybe. She shifts, wishing her arousal wasn’t so physically obvious. She adjusts the waistband of her pants, taking care not to untuck her button-up shirt.

The water in the bathroom shuts off. She can hear shuffling.

And then the door opens, clouds of steam billowing forth, a lavish production every bit as extravagant as the curtains raising on a theatrical performance. This show for one.

Panne swallows.

Olivia steps forward slowly, decked out in silks and lace, her feet almost sliding as she dances across the floor. Panne takes a deep breath as Olivia grasps the end of her tie and crawls forward, mounting her legs and kissing her tenderly. Everywhere Panne would put her hands is lace - her garter belt, her stockings, the frills of her bra, through which Panne could see, well, everything. A lot of sheer. She swallows again.

“So,” Olivia whispers, breathy against Panne’s cheeks. She plants a short, chaste kiss against her before pulling back, still dangling from Panne’s disheveled tie. “I noticed you staring at me in the dressing room.”

Panne tries to fight the blush creeping across her face and she chooses instead to occupy herself by staring at the lace strap resting across Olivia’s hips. Her gaze shifts to the bare skin beside. “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” Olivia giggles, and presses her lips to Panne’s nose. She reaches a hand out to stroke Panne’s ear. “You just need a little bit of encouragement.”

“I suppose you are the expert.”

Olivia laughs and kisses her again, reaching out to snare her hand and drag it back. “Here, like this,” she says, placing Panne’s hand directly on her ass. Panne erupts into a blush.

“Problem?” Olivia teases, kissing her collar.

“It seems...improper.”

Olivia laughs and lets go of Panne. “Gosh, your hand is so stiff. Here, it’s just like dancing.” She takes one of Panne’s hands in her own and guides the other to her hip. “See?” She lifts Panne’s hand to her mouth and kisses her knuckle. “You look beautiful, Panne.”

“As...as do you,” Panne murmurs.

“No teasing?” Olivia kisses the back of her hand. “No calling me man-spawn or anything like that?”

Panne’s blush deepens. “I haven’t called you that in years.”

Olivia moves her lips away from Panne’s hand and reaches forward to untie her tie from around her neck. She moves slowly, with all the grace of a coiled snake, and the tie slithers from beneath Panne’s collar and drops to the bedside. Olivia unbuttons the top of her shirt, picking up where Panne had left off. She kisses her as she does, each inch of dark skin exposed as she works her way down, down, until she yanks the hem of Panne’s shirt from the waistband of her pants.

Panne breathes heavily against the crook of Olivia’s neck, nuzzling her softly.

“You like that?” Olivia teases, pulling the sides of Panne’s shirt aside to expose her taut abs and the bridge of her bra. She kisses the divot between her breasts, pleased at the rumbling coming from deep inside. She can feel Panne’s arousal building between her legs, a warmth against Olivia’s skin. She reaches one hand down to tease the growing stiffness between her legs. Panne lets out a sharp gasp as she does.

“Oh, so you do?” Olivia kisses her softly, and then harder, sliding her tongue between her lips. Taguel teeth are sharp, and Olivia dances the tip of her tongue along Panne’s. Panne returns the gesture, grasping Olivia’s sides and kissing back, harder, her tongue pressing forwards against Olivia’s.

Olivia almost yelps in surprise but clutches tight, grinning against Panne’s mouth. “That’s more like it,” she pulls back, slow and sultry.

It’s a dance, a performance, just like any other. A show for one, in linens and lace and soft lips and gentle fingers. Olivia brushes her fingers through Panne’s hair, stroking her ears, tangling her hands in the braids and tugging. She pulls Panne’s head backward and she lets out a sharp groan in surprise.

Olivia slips her other hand down, dipping her fingertips below Panne’s waistband. Her thumb presses against the button and pries it free, and her hands touch soft cotton. She can feel Panne’s body quiver beneath her touch, her arousal complete and unignorable. She slips a hand down Panne’s pants and wraps her delicate fingers around Panne’s cock through her underwear. Panne gasps.

“Careful,” she mutters.

Olivia kisses her collarbone and dips lower to sink her teeth into the soft flesh of Panne’s breast. Panne reaches a hand out and snares it in Olivia’s damp pink hair, pressing her tight against her chest. “W-wait,” she mutters, sitting up and sliding her shirt from her shoulders. She reaches a hand around to unclasp her bra, letting it fall to her waist and leaving her chest bare for Olivia to kiss to her heart’s content.

And kiss she does, wasting no time in sinking her teeth into Panne’s nipple while one hand remains buried in her pants, massaging her cock, coaxing soft moans from her as she works.

Panne shifts backwards on the bed, laying down and extracting herself from Olivia’s ministrations. She dismounts from Panne’s legs but hooks her fingers into her pants and tugs, yanking her slacks down past her knees, her ankles, and leaving her reclining against the bed in naught but her cotton briefs. Olivia kisses her navel and lower, pressing her lips to the skin above her waistband. She kisses the tip of her cock through her increasingly wet underwear before dropping lower, kissing the insides of her toned, muscular thighs. She straddles her legs and sits up, stretching and laying down across Panne’s body, content as a cat as her breasts brush against Panne’s.

Panne reaches languid hands for the straps of Olivia’s bra, but before she can unclasp it Olivia grasps her head and tugs her into a kiss. Panne shifts her hands tentatively, almost reverently to clutch at Olivia’s chest, to knead the flesh through the transparent fabric of her bra. She can feel her nipples stiffen to hard nubs under her touch and experimentally pinches one. Olivia yelps into Panne’s mouth, surprised.

“Sorry,” Panne mutters.

“Do it again,” Olivia smiles, reaching down to hook her fingers under the bridge of her bra and tug upwards, spilling the flesh out into Panne’s hands. Panne obeys, pressing her fingers into her breasts, cupping and massaging them as Olivia lets out soft moans. Olivia closes her eyes and fumbles blindly, her own hands reaching to grasp at Panne’s breasts and knead them back.

Panne groans and shifts beneath her, pushing her hips upwards, begging for friction against her midsection. She can see Olivia’s delicate, pretty underwear practically dripping wet as she rubs with fervor against her.

“O...Olivia,” Panne mumbles before leaning back and moaning. “P-please.”

Olivia smiles and opens her eyes, ducking her head down to press a kiss between Panne’s breasts, then to her nipple before sinking her teeth in and delighting at Panne’s surprised gasp.

Panne reaches her hands down and cups Olivia’s backside, slipping her hands beneath her underwear to grasp her ass and push her downwards against her aching arousal. Olivia lets out a surprised gasp and obeys, letting Panne push her down and grind their wetness together.

She reaches one hand down and unsnaps her garter belt, letting her stockings unroll back to her knees. She and Panne reach down in unison to thread their hands through the mesh of silk and lace to pull Olivia’s underwear down, exposing her neat curls of soft pink hair and the wet flesh beneath. Panne’s fingers dance down her waist and press against her clit and Olivia groans.

“Oh, P-Panne,” she moans, thrusting against Panne’s hand. “Panne…”

Panne’s chest rises and falls as she breathes heavily, not moaning but so clearly aroused that Olivia can’t help but grin, even through her stammered groans. She shifts on Panne’s fingers, urging her down further, and reaches a hand down to push Panne deeper.

Her fingers brush against her slick folds and Olivia presses Panne’s fingers inside her. She moans as she does, tensing and rocking against Panne.

“Oh, oh god,” Olivia squeezes her eyes shut, her cheeks flushed and her hair tousled. “W-wait,” she says, pulling back and slipping from Panne’s fingers. She takes a moment to collect herself, brushing her pink hair from her eyes and breathing before straddling Panne’s legs and bending down to hook her fingers in her underwear.

It takes a moment of fussing to pull Panne’s underwear down, working the her tail out and leaving Panne’s backside bare. Panne almost melts in her grasp as Olivia pulls her underwear to her knees and then off, tossing them over the side of the bed and leaving Panne naked and erect before her. Olivia grins happily, hungrily at the sight.

“Olivia,” Panne mutters breathily.

“Do you not want me to?” Olivia slides a hand up, between Panne’s thighs, and comes to rest at the base of her cock, in her forest of unkempt hair.

Panne shakes her head.

Olivia smiles and bends her wrist, working her hand up and down Panne’s hot, twitching length. Panne gasps, shrinking back into the bed.

Panne reaches a trembling hand down, one to clutch a fistful of the bedspread and the other to snare in Olivia’s soft pink hair, tugging her head forward, and Olivia relents, dipping her head and pressing her lips to the head of Panne’s cock. Panne shudders and instinctively thrusts upward, pushing herself past Olivia’s lips and into her soft, warm mouth. Panne grunts as Olivia sinks down around her, warm and wet and dancing her tongue around her length.

Olivia bobs her head up and down, slowly at first, building her motion in intensity to the crescendo of Panne’s muttered groaning, the orchestral backing to Olivia’s performance, her dance of flesh and lips and tongues and spit. She wraps both hands around Panne’s cock and massages her as she moves her head, pulling back with a wet smack and leaving her hands to work up and down her now-wet cock.

Panne groans again and thrusts upwards, pleading, begging. “Olivia,” she mutters again, breathing heavily. “P-please…”

Olivia grins and shifts forwards, straddling Panne and walking forward on her knees until the hot head of Panne’s cock brushes the soft wet folds between her legs, wet against wet. Olivia closes her eyes and lets out a soft moan, sinking down, enveloping herself around Panne, and Panne moans in response.

They’re quiet for a time, not teasing, not playful, just soft and gentle as Olivia rocks back and forth, moving up and down slightly to the soft sound of flesh against flesh, grinding themselves together. Olivia cocks her head to the side and gives a dazed, contented smile.

“You feel so nice,” she says quietly, taking Panne’s hands and draping them over her hips.

“Y-you as well,” Panne mutters, her fingers dancing lightly along Panne’s skin.

Olivia braces herself on Panne’s taut abdominal muscles, holding herself steady to push against Panne’s cock, urging her deeper. Olivia cries out, her facade of stoic contentment finally broken down into a cacophony of pleased cries. She fumbles blindly to grasp Panne’s shoulders, brushing her hair aside and tucking down to fuck her harder, deeper. Panne responds in kind, clutching tight to Olivia’s hips, thrusting upwards, faster.

“Olivia,” she breathes, and she can feel Olivia’s muscles clench around her as Olivia cries out. Olivia comes first, gasping out Panne’s name, and the tense spasms of muscles bring Panne to completion not long after. She grunts, spilling out into the warm inside Olivia, collapsing back against the pillows and the headrest utterly spent.

Olivia stays atop her a moment longer, resting, bracing herself yet again against her abs, before pulling herself off of the sticky mess Panne has made of them. She lays down, curling herself around Panne and kissing her softly.

“You ought wash up,” Panne says, her voice calm despite her flushed cheeks and sweat-tinged brow.

“Oh, Panne,” Olivia sighs. “Always the romantic.” She kisses Panne’s cheek and lets an arm dangle across Panne’s shoulder, stroking her long ears softly.

Panne shifts to nestle into Olivia’s embrace, rubbing her nose against the crook of her neck, nuzzling her. “That was…”

Olivia laughs. “Adequate?” she guesses.

“Incredible.”

Olivia takes Panne’s cheek in her hands and nuzzles her back, kissing her nose before rubbing her face against hers. “I love you so much.”

“And I you, little rabbit.”


End file.
